


Is that my shirt?

by phene



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Couch Sex, M/M, Purple Shirt of Sex, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phene/pseuds/phene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lavender one?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is that my shirt?

**Author's Note:**

> This was a gift for my friend and now you all get to have it too. Compared to my other Hiddlesbatch, this is the type of writing I'm proud of. It's not so lazy. Anywho, enjoy.

Listening to his favorite violin duet on his iPod, Tom pulled his arms up snug to his chest around a pillow, legs raised up to his folded arms, ankles crossed, and let out a sweet sigh. His body felt so relaxed, so at ease in the silken, down feel of Benedict’s shirt hanging off his shoulders from the lack of buttoning. He managed one button, half another that slipped free when he curled himself up in a smitten ball around that plush pillow Benedict had picked out. His smooth white skin contrasted so elegantly against the dark, suave, lavender shirt he woke up in. With an empty bed yet battle trophy, he couldn’t help but flaunt it.

It was too bad Benedict had to go out for a meeting, of sorts, for an upcoming role. The bed was still warm when Tom woke up, and he could smell the faint residue of the tea Benedict liked to have when he woke up. He snagged the first pillow he could off the bed, swung his feet to the floor, and tiredly trekked to the living room stark naked in just a slightly too big dress shirt. Pillow to his chest, he made more tea, sweetened it just right, and of course he had his bit of chocolate, dipped it in the hard brown liquid and nibbled it down with a satisfying groan. He took his tea to the den and plopped down on the couch, coming to be where he was now, swinging his finger in beat with the violin.

The tea was gone, and the shirt loosely holding onto the last button towards the middle. He had his head nuzzled into the pillow and was now humming the piece. As the song drifted into something mellow, a soft strum of stroke after stroke, Tom rolled his head back and started to think of Benedict. His gorgeous face, those amazing cheekbones, that dark mass of curly auburn hair that hung so loosely, his opaque green eyes and his body, his wonderfully built body. The lean muscle that lined his gentle curves was so tempting. He had the perfect tone and moved it all in just the right ways, especially when he was *taking care* of Tom. Tom drifted to the more finer details, his fingers for one, long, just wide enough to make him scream happily.

A groaned thrummed through the air. Tom curled around the pillow tightly with a shiver running down his spine, just enough that the shirt drifted above his waist and let the cool air hit his rump.

“Benedict,” he whimpered, glancing around the flat. It was quiet, he was alone. That made a grin curl on his lips.

Tom pulled the pillow over his chest and slid down in the curve of the couch, propping his feet up on the close enough coffee table to have his legs spread and arse turned up. He coveted Benedict’s addicting scent drifting across his skin while sucking leisurely on two fingers, still enjoying the smooth flow of the string music. He hummed over his fingers, twirling his tongue, sucking the digits their length down his throat. He withdrew them with a pop and wiggled his arse a bit higher as he ran his palms down his thighs and under his firm rump. Spreading the cheeks with one hand, he slid his slick fingers down along the crease, lightly playing over his hole in circles. A soft moan rang off his lips and he pressed his finger past the tight ring, wiggling it to the knuckle. Finger twisting and pushing deeper, he threw his head back with a breathless gasp. The single, long digit dug deeper into his arse, curling temptingly, and his body  **clench** ed around it unconditionally, driving a groan to rumble in his throat that smoothed out to something akin to a moan. “Benedict~”

“Isn’t that something?” Benedict’s voice rang out with a certain ease of effortlessness, the words rolling off his tongue.

“B-Ben?” Tom canted his head up, just plunging two fingers into the now slick, vociferous hole, his body jerking and tossing the pillow, revealing his light chest painted in a lush red, up his neck to his cheeks. His back arched and voice cracked, a slight whimper forming as he settled, still thrusting deeper into his arse.

“Now that is what I like to come home to,” Benedict intoned with a gruff hint to his voice like a possessive growl.

Tom heard him stalk closer, heard his clothes hitting the ground, his overcoat, his suit jacket, the snap of his cuff links, his shoes pattering. Then, his body bit the ground, on his knees, his fluff of auburn curls ducking up between Tom’s legs. His fingers thinned out over the inner, taut curves of Tom’s thighs, stroking along the supple skin until curving under to raise his arse even higher. His head bowed lower and his lips pressed just below where Tom’s hand was, nudging it with his nose until Tom slid his hand down to the couch and whitened his fingers around the edge. Benedict kissed and licked along the perfect arse, wiggling his tongue against the rosy pucker now given a sheen as it was stroked passionately.

“Benedict, Ben,” Tom moaned as he grew his head back, splaying his legs out rocking his hips down on the tongue pressing to his entrance.

“Shh, love, I’ve got you,” Benedict hummed, biting a harsh mark on the perfect globe.

Tom shuddered, keening and pleading, his breaths coming in desperate pants as Benedict tongue pushed itself through the tight ring and drew restlessly at the rim. The tongue was joined by a single, slick finger, prodding and tugging, curving around the rim, barely entering him. Another was added, from the other hand, and Tom bit back a strangled moan as Benedict pulled his evident thumbs apart, thrusting his tongue even deeper. God – he felt it, wiggling, hot, stroking out every little sweet spot he had developed. Sooner than he would have liked, he was left empty, even the firm grip on his arse vanished. Remedying the loss, Benedict drew the long legs over his shoulders as he straighten up and pressed his knees to the edge of the mattress. His weight stretched across Tom, purposely keeping all but their groins touching. The silk of his shirt was cool contrasted to the strip of skin down their chests brushing and sliding together as Benedict fervently kissed Tom’s panting lips. His tongue swept along Tom’s, tangling around it, drawing it in his mouth to suck on slowly. He drew off it with a groan, quickly returning to numb Tom’s lips with a continuous, bruising kiss.

While stealing Tom’s breath, Benedict fumbled with his pants, just shy of tearing them when he shoved them down with his boxers. His weight shifted and his arms came up around Tom’s legs, hands fast to the bends of his knees, holding the ginger in place. As he pulled away for a breath, he caught the hooded blue eyes wandering over his features, down his heated neck and chest, tracing the contours of his lean definition, lingering on the jutting curve of his erection. Glistening at the peak with a small translucent pearl, Benedict’s cock looked adorned with a crown. Tom chuckled to himself and looked back up to the glazed green eyes, spotting Benedict’s smooth grin. Then, they kissed. In the same moment, Benedict rolled his hips forward, aligning with and nudging the eager, twitching hole. The next rock slid him in, all the way, merciless even as Tom  **clench** ed around him and gasped between their locked lips. His long fingers were clawing at Benedict’s shoulders, nails tearing skin. It was so damn  _sensitive_. Benedict allowed him to breathe, pressing Tom’s face to his neck as he rolled his hips forward steadily and drew out impossibly slow. The sheer drag and heat of his body, his prick, buried so deep, stroking and pulsing, made Tom’s mind a foggy white haze. He buried his face into the crook of Benedict’s neck, cheek turned to Benedict’s thrumming pulse, arms slung over the wide shoulders inside his legs. Each thrust rocked his body, jerked a weak sound from his throat, accented the sharp notes still strumming in his ears.

Bending closer, shifting his angle, Benedict drove home, bruising Tom’s legs where he gripped them, stretching him to new lengths. His breaths were pathetic gasps and grunts, their bodies in such perfect sync. He felt the sting of Tom’s teeth on his neck, the fluttering heat of his inner walls, every jerk he gave when Benedict bent his hips back and hit his sweet bundle of nerves. He was so beautiful, especially when he was screaming Benedict’s name. Which he did. Tom’s nails suddenly yanked at his hair, forcing his head back, and his body grew unbearably tight. Benedict’s hips stuttered as he slammed into that blissful heat, his heart in his throat, his orgasm ripping through him. Tom was shaking beneath him, a gorgeous sight, painted in red, trembling,  **clench** ing, striping their chests as he met Benedict’s climax.

Errant, messy thrusts slowed to a grind as Benedict slumped against Tom. The legs fell off his shoulders and Tom let out a long, soft keen. Benedict gathered Tom in his arms as he rolled over on the couch, laying with his head to the armrest and Tom cuddling up on his chest. His legs spread, Tom still astride his waist, and he drew out carefully. They both sighed and relaxed, Tom nuzzling under Benedict’s chin, Benedict petting the smoldering, fiery locks from Tom’s face.

It was quiet, happily, both bathing in the after glow until Benedict noticed the shirt hanging off Tom’s shoulders.

“Is that my shirt?” Benedict chuckled, plucking the headphones from Tom’s ears and testing the song playing. I was  _his_  favorite, forcing a smile to stretch across his lips as he looked accusingly in every way at the man atop him. Favorite song, his best shirt – what didn’t Tom know about him?

“Really, Ben?” Tom shook his head, taking one headphone for himself, sharing. His finger tapped along on Benedict’s chest, his smile matching Benedict’s coyly.

Tom lifted his head and kissed Benedict softly, framing his face, wiping the smug look away. Benedict palmed his back and sides, playing with the shirt. It was soon on the floor with the rest of Benedict’s clothes, very much forgotten. They wouldn’t be able to hear that song and  _not_  fuck now.


End file.
